Unsinkable
by lysmachine
Summary: Very loosely based on the film. Is from a OC perspective.


**A/N : I wrote this nearly 4 years ago for an English assignment and it ended up being entered into a few competitions so i thought to get more people read it and see what they think!**

The sparkling chandelier loomed over me, it was shaking violently and my first instinct was to get out of the way. The chandelier quickly decided to break free of its metallic frame and come crashing to the ground. I reacted. I broke free of the trance I was in and moved. It's lights immediately dimmed and only enhanced the circumstances more. The broken lights and crystals reflected the chaos going on around me.

Only two hours ago I was mingling with the socialites in first class, I looked through lust-filled eyes toward Dorothy Beck. She was beautiful; her eyes sparkle like the stars, her luscious long golden hair cradled her waist and its curls highlighted her curves. Her corset was fitted with one purpose; to watch the envy form in other women's eyes. It killed me to think she was already betrothed, her heart belonged to another, a man whose name was unworthy of my memory. I believed that romance happened in the strangest of ways, including womanising. My life had just begun however, the company had just hit the stock markets with a triumphant roar and bought me a ticket to the new world. I had left my family behind in Wales, it wasn't such a sacrifice, my father was a tailor with no time on his hands and my mother had a favourite. My younger brother had gone to be in the army, our mother's tears soaking his uniform. Secretly I hoped that Ifan never returned. I never believed in family, coming from one that dropped me on my head as soon as I reached seven years old. Hurt and betrayal were my reminders of my childhood. I had toys, a house and food on the table but I never had a home. So when I set sail, I was reaching out for something to hold on to. Be it a comfy bed in a boastfully large house, or the warmth of spending the night in strangers bed. Realising I was wallowing in my misery in front of a beautiful woman embarrassed me, I turned away from Dorothy; an action that came simultaneous with a deafening crash.

This is where I am now, from that point onwards there had been shows of impressive hardwood flooring shredded, sliced and thrown violently in assorted directions. Destroyed leather and cashmere furniture clung fervently to the walls of the ballroom, powerless to fight against the force of the room sloping. Paintings were flung helplessly to the ground, where they endured further suffering. With water dripping through the porous paper, the paintings began to cry. People fought their way towards the surface, they tried eagerly to get to the highest point possible. However, 'possible' was a word in short supply in these small hours. I fought my way to the main staircase, it's muses and statues bathing in an immortal unhealthy content glow. A woman to my right was crying, her shrill voice piercing my ears. I had never heard a sound like it before, like death was given a voice. It was a sound that made me want to rip a hole in my chest and grab my heart; to tell it to stop. To _make _it stop. The woman was holding a bundle, a very small bundle. I understood that it was her baby, probably asleep, unaware of this turmoil. They were shouting now, the people from above, they kept on shouting. 'Women and children first!' they would cry. Enveloped in devastating emotion and incomprehension, frantically trying to escape, the woman beside me was forgotten. The people from above left with three children and another woman. The shrieking woman beside me had realised her fate, she silenced herself and looked straight at me. Among the activity of the people around us and the howling of screams, all I could see was her. Her eyes delved deep down into my soul, I had never seen such raw emotion before. She knew exactly what she was going to do. I couldn't help her, she had fixed me with her stare, like a sorceress. Then she made me watch. The water levels had escalated now, and we were at a grand height. I watched with baited breath as the woman turned to the banister, holding the bundle carefully, she climbed onto the wooden surface. My heart was in my throat now, I realised that the men had managed to break the doors holding us back from the surface but I continued to watch the woman. Her delicate body curved toward me and a small smile formed on her dispirited face. Then she plunged into the bitter, freezing waters of the Atlantic that had formed in the ballroom below.

Having removed myself from the pack that emerged from the main staircase, I grab the barrier of the stern of her. Cold metal against my skin remind me of death. I know that is where I am heading, a place with no more warmth, I have almost forgotten the sensation of being warm. I chance a look at the scene in front of me. Women and children are scrambling into the last lifeboats, Lights have dissipated and all that remains is the dark and shining sky, a sight so exquisite it is hard to disregard. With so many people running, screaming, crying and dying, I have to think about something so I latch on to those stars. I try hard to ignore fellow passengers failing to keep a hold of the bars and falling towards the split in the middle of her. The other half of her is completely gone. She is ascending, her stern rising upward. Explosions omit from below, sending passengers and debris flying , like a dog shaking to flick off dirt. That's all we are now, dirt. I look left and right at my fellow passengers and I know now that we are going to be forgotten, another statistic of a tragic accident. I hold on tighter as the pressure increases below and the explosions become more violent. Vast blinding lights frighten people and they release their grip. They plummet the now vertical distance to the sea and their deaths. Now the stern is descending rapidly, I have the sensation of butterflies in my stomach and I feel sick to the core. My head is thrashing and my heart is thumping in my throat. I'm thinking of the things that have made _me _think; music, drinking, laughing, smoking, poker, my father, my mother, my little brother… my family. I look up again at the sky. It's radiant stars are just the sub-units of a picture that we are too close to see, maybe now I will get my opportunity to glance upon the full picture. If stars signify anything, they signify one thing; it's the day after. The stars are revealed, shining for April 15th 1912.


End file.
